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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503449">Day By Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidvervain/pseuds/Orchidvervain'>Orchidvervain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Friendship, Friendship Cuddles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Paul McCartney, Sickfic, caring John Lennon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:47:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidvervain/pseuds/Orchidvervain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My interpretation what happened that day in 1963 when poor Paul got sick with the stomach bug.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Harrison &amp; John Lennon &amp; Paul McCartney &amp; Ringo Starr, George Harrison &amp; Paul McCartney, George Harrison &amp; Ringo Starr, John Lennon &amp; Paul McCartney, John Lennon &amp; Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney &amp; Ringo Starr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Day By Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m back after a hot minute. Enjoy my first Beatles fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Nov. 12<sup>th</sup>, 1963</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>12 hours before Guildhall performance</em>
</p><p> </p><p>           </p><p>            At 7 AM, the four beatles woke up to their manager, Brian Epstein knocking on their hotel door. A wake up call for the eventful day laid out before them. They were used to Brian doing that at that point since almost every day was in it’s own way eventful.</p><p> </p><p>            George instantly hopped out of bed, the excited adrenaline already pumping through his veins for their next performance. Ringo and John, on the other hand, were more groggy and took their morning routine slow, waiting until they could have some coffee before letting their own eagerness kick in. Then there was Paul…still fast asleep.</p><p> </p><p>            It wasn’t until John was half dressed when he noticed. He frowned and crept over to his bedside where Paul’s cheek pressed against the pillow. John gently shook him awake. “Eyy, time to wake up now, Paulie.”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul’s eyes fluttered open. “Hrm?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Told ya not to stay up so late readin’, you’ve gone and slept late,” John spoke a bit louder.</p><p> </p><p>            “Alright, alright, I’m gettin’ up,” Paul mumbled. As he sat up he grimaced from the weird churning feeling going on in his stomach. He shrugged it off from no food and quickly got himself dressed like the others.</p><p> </p><p>            For breakfast, there was a usual nutritious feast for the young group. Their manager always wanted to make sure they never practiced or performed on an empty stomach. Good thing was, they all had big appetites despite their lean figures and dug into the food bestowed upon them.</p><p> </p><p>            But this morning Paul didn’t even get halfway through his food when he paused and put his fork down. His chewing slowed and he winced, realizing it was nausea. He settled his hand in his lap, waiting for the feeling to pass. The rest of the time, he took small bites from his breakfast or just poked at it.</p><p> </p><p>            John noticed this and asked,“Somethin’ wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Wha?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Yer food,” John pointed to it. “Somethin’ wrong with it?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Oh, nah,” Paul shook his head, smiling through another stomach pang. It felt stronger than the last one. “Just not hungry. Prob’ly nerves.”</p><p> </p><p>            John didn’t point out that Paul has never been nervous for performances in the mornings before. They usually hit him later. The last time that happened was when he had first joined their group when they were only teenagers. But he just nodded and kept quiet, deciding in that moment to watch out for Paul for the rest of the day.</p><p> </p><p>———</p><p>
  <em>6 hours before the Guildhall performance</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Christ, what’s takin’ Paul so long? It’s been half n’ hour,” George asked both out of annoyance and concern.</p><p> </p><p>            “Didn’t he go to the bathroom?” Ringo guessed, fiddling with his drumsticks.</p><p> </p><p>            Practice had only gone on for an hour before Paul had to excuse himself and had quickly exited the room. If it were a normal day, it would’ve been fine. But since there was a concert they were rather limited on time.</p><p> </p><p>            John knew it must’ve been connected to earlier that morning. First sleeping in late then barely touching his breakfast even though he’s always ravenously hungry in the morning and now this. There was definitely something wrong. John couldn’t help but worry over him. Paul was like a younger brother to him. In fact, all of them felt like close brothers. And he cared for each and every one of them.</p><p> </p><p>            A few minutes later, Paul returned, hastily apologizing as he picked up his bass guitar and played a few notes. John watched him worriedly. Paul was definitely paler than before and he seemed to be sweating.</p><p> </p><p>            Yup, something was wrong.</p><p> </p><p>            “You okay, there, Paul?” Ringo asked as he returned to his drum set.</p><p> </p><p>            “Yea,” Paul replied a bit disheveled.</p><p> </p><p>            “You sure?” John inquired, standing up.</p><p> </p><p>            “Yea, m’fine,” Paul answered with irritation in his voice. “C’mon, let’s resume practice, we’ve gotta show tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>            Rehearsal continued but this time with wary eyes towards the bass guitarist.</p><p> </p><p>———</p><p>
  <em>3 hours before Guildhall performance</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Throughout that entire half hour, Paul had in fact been throwing up. All the food he had that morning left his stomach and he felt worse than ever. He was hoping that’d be the worst of it, maybe it was still nerves getting the better of him.</p><p> </p><p>            Maybe it would all pass. It really wasn’t that big of a deal.</p><p> </p><p>            It was during the interview for the ‘Day by Day’ program when he realized how wrong he was.</p><p> </p><p>            At first it started out fine. The worst Paul was feeling were chills and clammy skin. If his condition stayed like this he’d be able to get through the rest of the night, he thought.</p><p> </p><p>            The interviewer asked the first question. “Are you beginning to find the strain of going around the country at this tremendous speed getting you down a bit?”</p><p> </p><p>            George answered, laughing. “No!”</p><p> </p><p>            “No, we like it, it’s great,”John added.</p><p> </p><p>            “You know us,” Paul remarked.</p><p> </p><p>            The journalist asked another question.“You don’t find it frightening, this business of being mobbed and having to go through all these rigamaroles to get here?”</p><p> </p><p>            “No, the police get mobbed, we don’t,” John said matter-of-factly.</p><p> </p><p>            “It’s always well organized, y’know,” Paul said quietly. The sickly churning in his stomach was starting to come back but he continued. He notices John looking at him, trying to figure him out like his condition was a puzzle worth solving. “Tonight was very good.”</p><p> </p><p>            “How did you get here tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>            “A van,” Paul said simply. “We were met outside the city and brought in by a van.”</p><p> </p><p>            As the interview went on, the churning feeling turned into sharp stomach cramps that caused him to go quiet. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the contractions reached their peak. He was doing his best to ride through them but it was taking all of his focus from the interview to keep the components in his stomach from coming back up again. At one point he exhaled sharply and tried to keep his breathing under control. But, damn, the cramps were not letting up so it was hard not to.</p><p> </p><p>            But he had to push through this. Just get through the interview and performance and then he could go home and spew his guts out in the hotel bathroom. They couldn’t cancel the show because of him.</p><p> </p><p>            He closed his eyes again, trying to slowly breath through this contraction but he could feel himself starting to become lightheaded and woozy. <em>This interview better wrap up soon.</em></p><p> </p><p>            He could feel himself swaying back towards the wall when John asked, “You okay there?”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul opened his eyes, realizing everyone was looking at him. He shook his head to look like he was waking himself up. He smiled. “Yea.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Paul?” Ringo murmured. The drummer was closest to the bassist. Even though he was smiling there was still concern in his gaze. Paul seemed to hover close to him and even sometimes leaning towards his side in case he could no longer hold himself up.</p><p> </p><p>            John was also watching him with concern. Paul looked worse than before and was growing paler by the second. George wanted to check on him, too, but he had to keep the interviewer distracted   from the situation that was slowly unraveling.</p><p> </p><p>            “You alright,” John asked again. His gaze was set on Paul. If this issue was getting worse, he couldn’t avoid it. Paul mouthed to him ‘no’ and this time lingered closer to John for support. He closed his eyes again to fight through the painful waves that were punching him in the stomach.</p><p> </p><p>            Finally the interview ended and about time, too. The four boys were all quiet as they walked away, the concern over Paul’s health settling over them all like a dark cloud.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul, on the other hand, could barely keep his composure together at this point. His vision started having blurry splotches. The room felt hotter than before but maybe it was just him. And, by God, he felt like he was going to puke any moment now with these stomach pains that have become more than unbearable.</p><p> </p><p>            Good thing was, he spotted a trash can just in time. He sluggishly sprinted for it, both hands gripping the edges of it as he regurgitated all of the contents from his stomach into the trash can. His knees buckled beneath him, almost making him lose balance because of how weak his body was. All energy was going into this one miserable, humiliating moment.</p><p> </p><p>            He heard haste footsteps running up behind him. Then someone’s hand was on his back, rubbing gentle circles into it. “Jesus, Paul…”</p><p> </p><p>            It had been almost a minute of him coughing and dry heaving before the convulsing of his body finally came to a stop. He gave a low grunt, still leaning against the trash can for support even though the smell of his vomit was burning the inside of his nostrils.</p><p> </p><p>            John continued to rub circles into Paul’s back. He was the first one to snap out of silenced shock when Paul had started throwing up. He should’ve said something before. None of them should have let the situation get this bad.</p><p> </p><p>            <em>We can’t do the show</em></p><p> </p><p>            “George, go get Brian,” John ordered. “We’re cancellin’ the show.”</p><p> </p><p>            “John, no—“ Paul croaked, trying to look at John. The quick movement only made his dizziness come back with a vengeance and he almost found himself on the floor if it weren’t for John’s arms supporting him around his torso.</p><p> </p><p>           </p><p>            “C’mon, you, let’s go sit down,” John whispered softly. He hoisted Paul over to the bench. “Ringo, go get ‘im some water, will ya?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Right,” Ringo said before running off.</p><p>           </p><p>            Paul’s head hunched over his legs, hands covering his face. His vision now had dark spots and it was getting very hard to breathe. His throat was sore and the stomach pangs washed out all of his thoughts they were so painful.</p><p> </p><p>            John continued rubbing gentle circles into his back, keeping quiet. The last thing the bass guitarist needed was hassling him as to why he pushed himself in such terrible health conditions. Brian would probably do that for them.</p><p> </p><p>            They remained like that until Ringo returned with a bottled water. He sat on Paul’s other side, holding the water out to him. “Here.”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul took the water with trembling hands and mumbled a thank you. Seeing his face, John noticed the poor guy was a very sickly pale, almost green, and sweating profusely. Paul only got a few sips before he gagged, signaling it was coming back up again.</p><p> </p><p>            “Shit,” John cursed. He searched the backstage rooms and found a smaller trash can. He hastily gave it to Paul. “‘Ere you go.”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul took it, retching sounds escaping first before anything else. There was little to nothing being eliminated from his mouth; mainly water, saliva, and leftover bile. Even after there was nothing left, Paul couldn’t stop retching and gagging. The sharp pangs in his stomach had doubled and he found himself almost sobbing through them.</p><p> </p><p>            Ringo and John watched him sadly, both of them now rubbing his back. John whispered to him soft reassurances, letting the bass guitarist know it was okay to express the pain. No one was judging. Ringo kept quiet, having flashbacks to the times he was in the hospital where he’d also be puking his guts out like Paul was. It saddened him to see his friend going through this. The experience was never fun for any individual.</p><p> </p><p>            That’s how George and Brian found them.</p><p> </p><p>            Brian came up and knelt in front of Paul. Paul looked up, tears now streaming down his eyes, his breathing ragged. Brian rested his hand on the boy’s forehead. “You’re burning up. Jesus, Paul, why didn’t you say something?”</p><p> </p><p>            “I..I didn’t—,” He was interrupted by a coughing fit and couldn’t get out anymore words. His throat now felt incredibly hoarse.</p><p> </p><p>            “‘E didn’t look so well durin’ the interview,” Ringo spoke for him, gently resting a hand on Paul’s arm. “Could barely get a word out.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Neither durin’ warmup earlier today,” George joined in, kneeling down beside Brian. He kept glancing at Paul with growing concern. He had never seen Paul so weak before. “‘E prob’ly thought ‘e could push through the pain.”</p><p> </p><p>            “And you didn’t think it’d get any worse, right?” Brian asked softly.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul nodded guiltily like a small child about to receive punishment. But Brian wasn’t going to do that. The poor bass guitarist was sick and that was out of his control.</p><p> </p><p>            “Eppy, he can’t go on stage like this,” John insisted. “He almost collapsed a few minutes ago.”</p><p> </p><p>            “I’m with you there, John,” Brian nodded. “I’ll get the car ready. There will be no performance tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>            “No, but—“</p><p> </p><p>            “No, Paul,” Brian interrupted gently. “You’re very sick and I don’t want to push you. Besides, I can always try and reschedule.”</p><p> </p><p>            Brian walked off as a way of fending off any further protests from the bass guitarist.</p><p> </p><p>———</p><p>            The return to the hotel was a bit of a blur. Paul felt numb the entire time, merely wincing now at the pains in his stomach. John hovered close, shielding Paul from any photographers while George and Ringo guarded from behind.</p><p> </p><p>            John didn’t even try to smile for the photographers, his mind only set on his best friend getting back safe. Getting into the car, they made sure Paul was by a window just in case they needed to give him some fresh air. John sat next to him with a protective arm holding him close.</p><p> </p><p>            The ride was rather unpleasant. It made Paul extra woozy and he felt he was going to throw up again everytime the car hit a speed bump or made a big swerve. He gave quiet moans a few times when the pains in his stomach reached their peaks again. John would always rub his arm up and down in reassurance. George and Ringo, in the meantime chatted amongst themselves to fill the awkward silence. But they still couldn’t help but glance over at their sick friend every few minutes.</p><p> </p><p>            Finally, they returned to the hotel and successfully returned to their rooms with no obstacles. Brian told them nothing was scheduled for the next day so the boys could just sleep in as long as they want.</p><p> </p><p>            They all changed into their pajamas, the cloud of worry starting to fade away as Ringo and George began to joke around a little, not minding that the show was cancelled. Paul was still very quiet, still trying to breathe through the sharp stomach contractions.</p><p> </p><p>            “How ya doin’, Paulie?” John whispered, buttoning up his night shirt.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul shook his head, giving a weak sad smile. “Not good…stomach hurts and it caused us to cancel a show…”</p><p> </p><p>            “It’s nothin’ to be ashamed of,” John assured him softly, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re only human, mate. Either one of us is bound to get sick at some point on these God forsaken tours. And like Brian said, there’s a chance it’ll get rescheduled.”</p><p> </p><p>            “I know, but still—“</p><p> </p><p>            Paul paused then gave an exhausted sigh, one of his hands resting on the plush bed as a big stomach pain passed through him. His face scrunched up and he couldn’t help but whimper once it reached it’s peak.</p><p> </p><p>            “Still think you would’ve survived the performance?”</p><p> </p><p>            The bass guitarist didn’t respond. Then he gagged but caught himself just in time. He hurried to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door. He knelt down in front of the toilet, dry heaving and spitting up little to nothing.</p><p> </p><p>            The other three were silent, each of them wincing at the painful sounds. John leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. Nothing else needed to be said to prove his point. He didn’t regret cancelling the show, saving his friend further suffering in front of the public eye.</p><p> </p><p>            Ringo called up Brian to report on Paul and also something else. “Could you bring up some supplies, too?— Yeah, I’ll list them for ya.”</p><p> </p><p>            Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. George opened it to see Brian carrying a few bags. “Got what you asked for, Ringo.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Good, It’ll all help Paul, I’m sure of it,” Ringo gladly took the bags off Brian’s hands and set them on the coffee table.</p><p> </p><p>            “How is he doing?” Brian entered in, searching for the bass guitarist.</p><p> </p><p>            “See for yourself,” John nodded his head towards the bathroom. Brian peeked in to see the boy was resting his head on the toilet seat, sweating and a very sickly pale. He waved, smiling weakly.</p><p> </p><p>            “Poor boy, he looks awful,” Brian murmured.</p><p> </p><p>            Ringo and George assembled all the supplies on the table. There was food which consisted of mainly bland crackers and some fruit, a few water bottle, some small packets of tea, then lastly, a heating pad.</p><p> </p><p>            “Wow, Ringo, you went crazy with the demands,” George commented, inspecting all the items.</p><p> </p><p>            Ringo shrugged. “When I was at the hospital, these were some of the stuff I remember. Mainly when I wouldn’t stop throwing up and me stomach hurt so bad I was in tears. Thought it would help.”</p><p> </p><p>            “If that’s so, best we use ‘em now,” John remarked from across the rooms, his arms crossed over his chest still. “Don’t want ‘im gettin’ any worse.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Good point, John,” Brian agreed. He entered into the bathroom and attempted to get Paul back on his legs again. He rubbed the boy’s back as he struggled to move. “Come on, Paul, let’s get you on the bed. It’ll be more comfortable.”</p><p> </p><p>            He supported the young man and gently helped him onto the bed. Paul heaved a sigh of relief, his aching back finally getting a rest. Ringo and George set up the heating pad, waiting for it to warm up to the right temperature while John and Brian occupied with getting Paul comfy. They fluffed the pillows and laid a cool cloth over his burning forehead.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul laughed, feeling like a spoiled child under their domestic gestures. But he was glad for it, even if he felt slightly awkward and still a tad bit guilty. George walked over with the heating pad. “Here, put this on his stomach.”</p><p> </p><p>            John took it and stuck it under the young man’s night shirt. Once the tingling heat settled against his aching stomach, Paul couldn’t help but shiver. “Oh, that feels weird.”</p><p> </p><p>            It was a bit like a soft tickling sensation against his tummy. A definite strange feeling but he really didn’t mind it. It was beginning to diminish the dull aches and pains.</p><p> </p><p>            “Doin’ alright now?” John asked softly.</p><p> </p><p>            “Yeah,” Paul yawned, the exhaustion finally settling in.</p><p> </p><p>            “Well, you boys seem to have it under control,” Brian said. “Also good news. I talked with the crew at Guildhall and they said they were okay with rescheduling the concert. Once Paul is feeling better, I’ll be planning on a day with them.”</p><p> </p><p>            “That’s good to hear, Eppy,” Paul replied tiredly, the guilt beginning to fade from his mind. Or maybe that was the exhaustion just settling in. Brian ruffled his hair and smiled, wishing all four boys a good night before leaving and closing the door.</p><p> </p><p>            For the rest of the time, Ringo and George hung out on the couch and watched the Telly, going through fan mail letters in the meantime. Paul and John were still on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul’s head had moved onto John’s lap as his eyelids began to droop. John tried watching the Telly from the distance but he didn’t have his glasses, making him blind as a bat, and nothing was really registering anyways since his entire focus was still on his friend. One of his hand’s absentmindedly ran his fingers through his friend’s soft hair. Sometimes he’d try to get Paul to eat a few crackers or take small sips of water but otherwise would just let his friend rest.</p><p> </p><p>            The two boys stayed like that for awhile. By the time George and Ringo had turned off the Telly and went over to check on Paul, the bassist was already fast asleep. It’s a peculiar thing how they all reacted. Hanging out together all the time has really converted their relationships to a big family. So now if one of them seemed to be acting odd or becoming ill, all of them felt the effects.</p><p> </p><p>            George laid against Paul’s right, nuzzling his head against his friend’s shoulder. “Think ‘e’ll be alright?”</p><p> </p><p>            “‘course he will,” John answered, stifling a yawn. “A stomach bug can be a prick but it won’t last long.”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul’s breathing slowed, making his chest gently rise and fall. It’s the most relaxed the other three mates have seen him been all day.They continued to watch over him like guardian angels even as they themselves began drifting off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>———</p><p>            In the morning, Paul woke up to being entangled amongst countless limbs. He searched with his eyes to discover all of his mates were piled around him. George’s head was resting against his shoulder, a hand on Paul’s stomach and his lanky legs trapping Paul’s right leg. Ringo was loudly snoring to his left. He was slightly curled up in the fetal position next to the Bassist’s side. Even when asleep, the drummer respected his friend’s boundaries. John, he couldn’t see, but Paul knew his head was resting on top of the other man’s chest by the feeling of his friend’s slow breathing pattern.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul craned his head to find John’s a few inches above his. He smiled and could feel a warm sensation growing in his chest. They had all worried for him. He was scared they would have teased or criticized him for being weak for not being able to handle a simple stomach bug. But no. They sympathized and came to his aid when he needed it.</p><p> </p><p>            Speaking of the stomach bug, he didn’t feel nauseous at all. In fact, all he felt was hunger. But, to be fair, he still felt chills and his fever, although mild, was still present. He yawned and tried to unravel his body from the weird position he had found himself in.</p><p> </p><p>            But that only caused the other boys to stir. John opened his eyes first and then grinned down at his friend, ruffling his hair. “Awake, I see. How ya feelin’?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Better than last night, that’s for sure,” Paul murmured.</p><p> </p><p>            George woke up as well, giving a sleepy smile. “You definitely look better, too.”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul chuckled. “Did I look that bad?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Yeah, ya looked like the dead,” Ringo muttered, lifting his head up from his curled position.</p><p> </p><p>            “I think this goes to all of us when I say this,” John addressed, first fidgeting around the bed to give himself some independent space. Even with the loss of John’s chest, Paul remained where he was. “If any one of us gets so sick it affects our behavior or our music, we don’t just brush it off. Agreed?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Agreed,” The other three say harmoniously.</p><p> </p><p>            “Good, that’s settled then.”</p><p> </p><p>            Paul’s stomach grumbled, reminding him he barely ate the other day. He chuckles awkwardly and begins to sit up. The others followed suit, their usual neatly trimmed haircuts now all matted and un attractively spikey.</p><p> </p><p>            George was the first to jump off the bed. “I’ll let Brian know you’re feelin’ bettah.”</p><p> </p><p>            Ringo was the next to stand up. He playfully adjusts the collar of his pajamas. “And I’ll go steal all the food from downstairs.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Not ‘til I get it first!” John cackled and cartoonishly leaped over Ringo and ran out of their hotel and into the dining hall at a sprint, his laughter nonstop echoing in the halls. Ringo was close behind, chasing after John with his goofy smile on his face. Paul knew that was going to set Brian on edge but it didn’t set aside the fact how hilarious it was.</p><p> </p><p>            George looked at Paul, grinning. “Well, Want ta join them?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Nah, I think I’ll walk instead,” Paul declined with a smile. “Still feel a bit woozy.”</p><p> </p><p>            “Understandable,” George nodded then walked over to the bassist and offered his left arm. “Care for a stroll instead?”</p><p> </p><p>            “Heh, gladly,” Paul took it and they walked down the quiet halls together. Because of Paul’s stomach’s incessant growling, they decided visiting Brian could wait and they continued down to the diner on the first floor where John and Ringo were already stuffing their faces with food.</p><p> </p><p>            Paul chuckled. <em>Just like the good times.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those still waiting for a Good Omens update, I swear I’ll get to it. Right now, the Beatles have actually been very therapeutic for me and have been helping me through a rough time with my mental health. Please give it some love, I was debating whether or not to even post it so be happy it’s here.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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